Snips From the Drawing Board
by T0PH4T
Summary: SPOILERS FOR COLLAGEN: Drafts and thoughts from the process of writing Collagen. Spoilers, but if you really want more it's here.
1. Tattletale's Interlude

"We are _not_ getting involved with that," Grue says as a gout of flame tears across the street.

"No shit," Regent says, staring impassively as Lung approaches the new cape. Rachel grunts in agreement.

"We don't need to," I say. "White hats will be here soon. Just give me a few minutes to watch?" I ask. Grue turns to look at me from the back of his mount. I meet his gaze and shrug. "More information about the newest cape in town." There's a sound of bone cracking, audible from across a street and up a roof, and I look back to the fight. New cape stabbed Lung a few times. I let my power loose.

 _Grew needles on a whim. Creates bone. Wants people out of the way_.

A hero then?

 _Wants to be a hero._

Ah, don't we all?

New cape retreats into an alleyway and Lung follows. One bellow of pain later and they're both tumbling back into the street, tearing at each other and leaving parts of their Changer forms on the street.

 _Escalation unintentional. Wanted to run away earlier. Enjoys the fight._

Looks like we have some contradictory motivations. I'll have to bring that up. Carefully, though. She seems a bit unstable.

The two separate and Lung tosses out a wall of fire. New cape blocks it with a wall of bone, and when Lung charges through it he gets stabbed in the side. There's got to be something more though, because after giving new cape a backhand he collapses to the ground.

 _Expanded bone within Lung. Spun protrusions, wanted to cause internal injuries._

My jaw drops. That's...

New cape isn't fucking around.

Lung charges, covered in fire and bigger than I've ever seen him before, howling with fury.

 _Wants to kill new cape. Worried about dying. Change in priorities._

Oh shit.

"White hats are here," Grue says, shaking my shoulder and pointing over the rooftops. I follow his finger.

 _Miss Militia is setting up. More powerful gun than normal. Director has approved A-class measures. Full Protectorate engagement._

"Let's get out of here," I say quietly, looking to Rachel and nodding. She whistles twice and taps her heels to her dog. I grit my teeth and hang on tight as we accelerate, running away from the fight, even as I hear metal and gunfire in the background.

 _No bystanders or cameras. Protectorate not holding back. Want to convince Lung to retreat. New cape is secondary concern._

I shut off my power and focus on staying mounted.

* * *

"The new cape killed Lung," I say nonchalantly, sipping coffee. Brian stops shadow-boxing and turns to look at me, a skeptical look on his face.

"Really?" he asks. I nod.

"The Protectorate released a statement and everything. Also, the boss wants us to recruit her," I add sourly. I mean, it makes sense. She's a heavy hitter, and all that firepower would help fill in the gap on our lineup. On the other hand, having three killers on the team sounds like a pain and a half.

"Woot. More girls," Alec says from the couch, voice flat and dispassionate.

 _Doesn't care_.

Thank you, power, for that invaluable piece of information.

"Don't like it," Rachel says, fiddling with one of her dogs. I resist the urge to sigh in exasperation.

"I don't like it either, but he wants us to make an honest attempt," I say, spreading my arms. "I've left a note on PHO, so we'll see how that goes." A ringing sound cuts through the room and a chill runs down my spine. Coil. "Give me a minute," I say, dragging out the phone and stepping into my room. Once the door is locked, I flip it open and answer the call.

"White Rose is at Longshire Park. Talk to her." The line goes dead.

 _Expects me to fail. Wants me to succeed. Confident that he won't take a loss._

Again, with the contradictions. More information, even if I don't know how to use it yet. I jot down a quick note in code, slap it onto my cork board, and start changing into something more comfortable. I take a look at the catsuit, then pass over it. Approaching someone who wants to be a hero as a villain isn't a bright idea. Now, a potential _fan_ approaching a hero...

That's a different story.

* * *

 _Suspicious and slightly disoriented. Just acquired a lot of money. Thinks I'm hitting on her._

 _Wants to buy me food. Still not sure if this is a date._

 _Thinks she's convincing people not to look at her by glaring at them. Unconsciously rejoicing at the idea of being photographed._

 _Unaware of her effect on the restaurant host. Unaware in general._

 _Low opinion of public. Result of systematic social isolation._

 _Explicitly dislikes obvious attention. Implicitly overjoyed._

 _Still thinks I'm flirting with her._

 _Has thought about joining teams. Will not be anything other than her own boss. Unaware of the fact._

 _ **Hates**_ _people getting off scot-free, regardless of crime. Dislikes me for suggesting it. Still craves social interaction._

 _Brain is more vulnerable to Master effects when unaware. Depressed. Self-harm as coping mechanism. Breaks own bones. Has become desensitized to pain._

 _Undersells herself, but also unworried about other capes. False modesty. Unaware of it._

 _Will pursue friendship with New Wave. Lost interest in me._

* * *

"How'd it go?" Alec asks, eyes glued to the TV.

"She's a self-contradictory mess," I state. "She wants to be a hero without joining a team, but also wants social interaction. She also wants everyone to get what's coming to them, except for her, and she's a step _below_ a cutter." I collapse on the couch next to him and hold my head in my hands, groaning. "She wants friends, but not ones that are prettier or more interesting than her, she wants reputation but hates the public, and she thinks she's weak-ish but also one hundred percent willing to fight anyone anywhere over anything. Also, apparently I can't read her perfectly."

"So..." Alec trails off. I send a single baleful look his way.

"It did not go well."

* * *

 _Showing off. Completely unworried._

 _Doesn't want to be anything other than the leader of the team. Made up her mind before she got here. Pitys us._

 _Doesn't care that she's burning bridges. Doesn't think that we could actually help. Doesn't think that we're bad people._

 _Believes in fair play. Thinks she can take a few of us down. Won't._

* * *

"You're going out to meet her again?" Brian asks, raising an eyebrow as he bats at a few eggs around a skillet. I groan and sigh, packing the dossiers into my backpack.

"She doesn't _hate_ me. Not yet. She just thinks that I'm an Empire apologist." Brian doesn't respond. Damn it. "I'm not," I clarify, shaking my head. "I explained the three strikes rule and a few parts of the cape scene to her, she took it the wrong way, and New Wave showed up afterwards so I couldn't clarify who I was talking about."

"Be careful," he says and I heave an internal sigh of relief. One potential fire put out. Now to attend to the other one.

* * *

 _Checking me over habitually. Doesn't consider me a threat._

 _Happy. Recently left a terrible situation. Related to her civilian life._

 _Skeptical of offer. More okay with joining a non-villain group. Thinks in terms of absolute morality._

 _Impressed by powers and control. Wants their control._

 _Genuinely curious. Not interested in joining, but will use them to improve self._

* * *

"Oh shit," I whisper, leaning back from my computer re-reading the email.

 _Medhall-Empire connection was made using the information I found. Coil wants to destroy them in stages. End goal is control of Brockton Bay._

The cat is out of the bag and I didn't even know it. I can't stop this.

 _Release of both at same time would lead to chaos. Doesn't want chaos. Wants me to live. Fairly confident in my survival. Plan does not need me to live._

Thank you, power. More nightmare fuel.

 _Plan wants me to join Wards with Brian. Control criminals through Coil, government through PRT and Protectorate._

He's aiming to become the baron of Brockton Bay.

 _Control Protectorate through PRT, as Director of PRT. Not currently Director._

I smile.

A place to start.

* * *

 _Doesn't like being here. Looking forward to the fight._

 _Not happy about being approached by Nazis. Enjoys talking to people who are Nazis. Not a Nazi._

 _Bored. Using power to fight boredom._

 _Thought about murdering everyone here. Decided not to._

 _Surprised that many people dislike me. Associates me with another person. Negative association._

 _Sees Coil as a coward. Conflict-oriented mindset._

 _Surprised at cooperation between villains._

 _Doesn't want to be known as a killer. Doesn't think she wants to use lethal force. Doesn't trust herself to._

 _Doesn't buy Kaiser's speech. Still impressed._

 _Scared of Purity. Doesn't think she could kill her._

 _Flushed from combat. Harming self to maintain control._

 _Disappointed by lack of resistance. Expected a more face-to-face fight._

 _Not interested romantically in Hookwolf. Interested in upcoming fight._

 _Murderous impulses high. Harming self to maintain control._

 _Wants Bakuda dead. Will not accept less. Guilt over feeling responsible for the crisis._

 _Appreciates defusing the bomb. No longer dislikes me._

 _Satisfied. Disgusted with self. Elated. Ashamed._

* * *

"Tats, what the _fuck_!?" Grue shouts over the destruction of yet another building.

"It wasn't me!" I shout, knuckles white as I hang onto the bone spike in front of me. "I am _not_ that stupid!"

"Well, Purity thinks you are!" Regent shouts, waving his arm. A car crumples as kinetic light blasts through it. "Any bright ideas?"

"Fuck you!" I shout back, mind whirling and power firing.

 _Too violent for just loss of identity. Loss of loved one. Of child._

No no no power, I need the tools to get the fuck _out_ of the situation, not escalate it.

 _Child is gone, seized by the PRT. Done before the news was leaked. Coil's work._

Interesting tidbit but still not useful. Come on, give me something I can use.

 _Children are potential second-gen triggers. Taken into PRT custody. Moving out of town._

There we go.

"I didn't do it!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "Every second you waste trying to kill the person Kaiser pointed you at for no reason is another second your kids are getting farther away!"

"Liar!" Purity shouts. Regent curses and another beam of light flies over our heads. I hear screams.

"Did you really think you could talk her down?" Grue asks before blanketing the intersection ahead of us in smoke. He's been more careful about doing that after the first time when Purity just started shooting indiscriminately, but it still buys us an extra second.

Two more blasts lance through the darkness, we hang a right, and once more we're being chased.

"It felt like a good idea!" I shout back, thinking. New Wave is across town, and they might not even try to help. The PRT hotline is _still_ busy-

 _High activity due to sheer number of events. Empire capes unleashing at workplace. Whole Protectorate engaged._

Shit. What about getting help from Coil?

 _Calculated this. Wants me on the run. Wants the result of this._

That's not good. Faultline's Crew?

 _Want to preserve neutrality. Would not oppose Purity._

Worth a shot. Merchants?

 _Want to preserve neutrality. Would flee at first sign of danger_.

White Rose?

 _Wants to preserve neutrality. Would fight to do so._

Good enough.

* * *

 _Angry. Disdainful of perceived cowardice._

 _Fear of Purity. Shock at audacity. Anger at me, at situation. Murderous rage._

 _Desperation play. Trying for time._

 _Paranoid. Angry. Afraid of mind control. Conflicted between public and personal opinions._

 _ **Hate**_ _._

 _Pursuing us, trying to herd us into a corner. Blast coming left, forward, left, behind, direct, right, left, behind, direct, right, right, forward, forward, left, direct, right, behind..._

 _Gunshots. Miss Militia. Hard counter to Purity. Purity is leaving, Miss Militia not alone._

 _Euphoria._ _ **Hate**_ _. Likes fighting. Not with Wards because of social isolation. Social isolation ignored by authority. Hate of authority connected to self-image, hate of authority connected to parent-_

* * *

"Hello Lisa Wilborne," the PRT agent says, sitting across the table says, shuffling some paperwork.

"'Bout time," I say, smiling with more energy than I actually have and clasping my hands together. Not much more I can do with them anyway, what with the handcuffs through the loop on the table. Still, never let them see you sweat. If it's not a rule, it really should be. "First thing you should know is that it wasn't me."

 _Too excited for actual paper work. Is planning to torture me._

Oh shit.

He looks me dead in the eye. I look up at the camera, evading his gaze. They can't let this actually happen, right?

 _Not recording. Mole in the PRT stopping it from doing so. Coil's mole._

Fuck.

"What do you want to know?" I ask quietly, turning back to the agent. Maybe I can feed him some good lies. He twists his head from side to side, and I can hear the vertebrae popping.

 _Enjoys this_.

"Dead drops. Delayed emails. Anything and everything you've set up in an attempt to go after Coil," he says, pushing away from the desk. He takes his time walking around it, never breaking eye contact. It's an intimidation tactic, the good kind, where it doesn't matter if you know it's happening because it's still _fucking scary_. "We know about these data caches." He drops a sheet of paper in front of me. My plans, arranged by date. "We know about these post-mortems." Another sheet. Post offices and safety deposit box numbers. "Now then," he says, too casual for anything other than murder to be on his mind. "Tell me what we don't know."

I look up at him. Coil wants to defuse me. To neuter me.

 _Joining the Wards is the goal. Believes he can exert more control if I'm in the system. Nearing his end game._

I smile.

"Your best friend is fucking your brother," I answer. "Kinky shit too, with-"

The agent punches me in the face. It's too fast for me to really react and I tumble out of my seat. Silver lining: the handcuffs keep me from falling to the floor completely. Hurts like an absolute _bitch_ , though.

Fuck fuck fuck _why does this happen to me_?

"Okay, I'll tell you for real," I start. "There's an envelope in the storm drain on the corners Jay and Holiday that a druggie visits every week-" The agent cocks back a fist and I stop talking.

"Not how this works," he says. Another blow and this time I see stars. God, it _hurts_. Why do just two punches to the face _hurt_ so much?

 _Has no limits. Will kill me._

Then the intercom goes off.

"S-Class threat, all hands on deck."

The agent looks at the camera, then at me, then at the camera again. He shrugs, rights my chair, and unlocks the loop around my cuffs.

"Today's your lucky day," he mutters. "We'll talk more later."

* * *

Back in my cell, I push through the rapidly-growing bruises and do some Thinking.

 _Interrogation ultimately failed. Doesn't fit with Coil's usual schemes. Tried it because he didn't think there would be a problem. Didn't there would be a problem because he'd done it before._

He can't have actually pumped me for information like this before. I'd like to think I'd remember a beating like that.

 _Didn't interrogate me. Interrogated a simulation of me. His power._

Holy fuck.

 _Power is simulations. Models the future based on a single divergence point, then goes through a phantom experience where he moves along the given plan. Information transfers across consciousness._

No wonder everything comes up roses for him. He knows ahead of time if things will fail. In that case why interrogate me in the flesh?

 _Interrogation was supposed to be a simulation. Outside events forced him to commit to a different path. Outside event was the S-class threat._

I guess the other path led to death?

 _S-Class threat was in his base. Stimulus agitated it into action._

Coil, you deserve anything and everything that happens to you. Why would you poke whatever it was that apparently exists on the same scale as Preacher?

 _Time of disturbance correlates with dead-man info bomb set up four days ago. Info bomb contained all known information on Coil's hench people and operations, delivered to all senior members of the PRT. Stimulus related to the Travelers._

What? How does showing the connection between a Bond villain and his stooges do this?

 _Connection to Coil revealed to PRT. Reveal destroyed initial plan for the Traveler's rebranding. Reveal set off the S-Class threat._

I fall onto the bed and press on through the migraine. No. That's not enough. What's going on?

 _S-Class threat is a member of the Travelers. Travelers went to Coil for help. Coil offered it. Believes that the reveal will cripple Coil, prevent him from solving their problem. Panicked. Attempted to escape. Killed Coil in that simulation. Will try to-_

I cut off the my power and stare at a wall. The sharpness behind my eyes is nearly blinding, my temples have screws attached to them, but I have my fucking answers now.

Coil can make simulations and take the information from them freely. He used that to stay up-to-date on how I tried to undermine him. Because I'm paranoid and _never stopped making them_ , I had a window where each one would work. I got captured in that window, it went off, the PRT learned that they're more full of holes than a dam made by the Swiss out of cheese, and that made the _parahuman WMD_ he was sitting on go cuckoo for coco puffs.

I may have accidentally nuked a city.

I stand up and grimace as the sudden motion briefly intensifies the headache. Okay, no power unless I want to give myself an aneurysm. I walk (slowly) to the door and knock on the glass three times.

"You know that S-Class threat you guys are dealing with? I've got some information on it. Mind if I help?"


	2. Alternative Dragonslayer Ending

It would not have been hard for Felix to figure out my civilian identity from this trip. Honestly, it wouldn't be that hard for anyone to connect the dots. Simply look at the top income bracket in Boston, track down which people have sensible jobs, and spend a few weeks tracking the ones that don't. Maudlin did it as a lark, and while he's not the best example for which things are easy and which are difficult, he's also not the upper bound for Thinkers.

On the other hand, when I step out into the street and begin the walk to my car, I don't worry about being attacked by the Teeth, or Blasto sending a Made Man after me, or just about attempted murder in general. I stride with purpose, shifting slightly to let oblivious tourists pass and nodding politely to the locals who know better than to stand in the way of a woman in an expensive suit who doesn't seem worried about getting mugged.

They always say that admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it. Replace problem with misconception and you get the gist of the issues most of the capes in Brockton Bay are struggling with. A gang war, the outing of an entire parahuman organization, and one of the worst Endbringer attacks in recent years, all in the span of less than three months? The Bay was a hell hole. It just didn't feel like it from the inside.

There was an initial push back against the sudden influx of capes into Boston. Gangs didn't want to relocate or share territory, the heroes didn't like the rocking of the boat, and everyone else was battening down the hatches for the inevitable shitstorm. I remember bracing myself for the impact, for another conflict on the scale of the Empire's fight with the ABB.

I snort as I dig out my key fob and depress the unlock button. A white BMW's lights flicker twice and I step out into the road to lift the scissor door and slide in, ignoring the wolf whistles from the sidewalk. A short moment later and I've pulled into traffic, an acoustic guitar and drums softly reverberating through the car.

What actually happened was four total cape fights and a number of one-on-one skirmishes that never really got past a punch or three, all with less total collateral damage than a single bomb from Bakuda, and only one fight didn't involve Brockton Bay natives. The Empire absorbed or kicked out a few gangs, New Wave showed everyone that they still had the firepower to play in the big leagues, and the rogues of Brockton Bay asserted their independence with prejudice. Almost overnight the half-joke, half-warning _born in Brockton_ propagated. It didn't have a specific meaning, not really, but the idea was clear enough: damaged goods, steer clear.

I sigh as I brake at yet another red light. I'm still not sure if a hybrid sports car was the right decision, but the battery gives it more than sufficient range, good-to-great gas mileage, and it's pretty. An indulgence? Certainly, but that's kind of the point of having ludicrous amounts of cash. The light goes green and I slip forward with a very satisfying amount of power.

That's not to say that it's all been sunshine and daisies. Accord doesn't take no for an answer, and his orders always tend to be far more irritating than they're worth. He 'owns' the stretch of Boston my store rests on, and my art is the only form of payment he'll take. Every time a new parahuman triggers, they seem to think that my store is the place to go to get insights into cape life, and the sign I've hung with the Protectorate's number and a flow-chart of steps to take covering almost every likely scenario has done nothing to deter them. Those early months, when my reputation hadn't spread and I was powerful enough and isolated enough to be a target for the Teeth...

Those were rough.

Soon enough I'm back home. Gary looks up from his newspaper as I pull up to the entrance to the apartment parking lot and flash my ID.

"Taylor Hebert," I say, louder than I would normally. Gary peers at my ID, then nods, fiddling with a panel just out of sight.

"I'll let you through in a moment," he mutters. "Just gotta- there we go!" With a buzz, the bar starts rising. I give him a smile.

"Thank you," I say. He smiles in return, then turns back to his paper as I pull away.

It all worked out though. The Butcher fucked off back to New York, Accord eventually started deciding that my work was acceptable, and once Jackdice lost a hand and got thrown to the Protectorate for trespassing things quieted down. I still get visited by a maybe-hostile parahuman at least once a month, but more often than not it's either an out-of-towner who didn't bother to check the local PHO board and flees as soon as I make it clear that that I'm not fucking around, or a fresh cape that actually needs to talk to the Protectorate and join the Wards.

I exit my car, lock it, and head to the elevator. A brief wait, a muttered 'excuse me' as a haggard-looking woman with a squalling child rushes past me, and a button press later, I'm on the last leg of the journey home.

I had considered joining the white hats. I really did. Never as a Ward, the money from the Pale Garden was far too good for that and their rules of engagement were always a shade too conservative, but the Protectorate? Good pay, a social group that gets being a cape, a measurable and positive impact on my community. It checked all the boxes.

I just needed to wear a leash.

The door dings open and I shake my head, taking off my shoes carefully and shrugging out of my coat.

"I'm home!" I shout to the apartment, waiting for the response. Three, two, one-

"How'd it go?" Vicky shouts back from somewhere in the bedrooms. No one else, so Amy must still be at work.

"Pretty well," I shout back, suppressing a yawn as I head to the sitting area. "Who's doing dinner tonight?" I snag a book off the ground with a tendril of bone on the way to my favorite arm chair.

"Ames," Vicky says, floating into the room as she puts her hair up in a ponytail. "So, what sort of take out do you want?" I shake my head.

"Chinese," I say. Amy is many wonderful things, and a cook is not one of them. Vicky nods, yawning herself.

"Hope she gets back soon. Don't want to eat too late," Vicky comments, sitting down on the couch and giving me a searching look. I sit back quietly. She's the first to give, groaning. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?"

"Ask what?" I reply innocently. She rolls her eyes.

"About the photo shoot. How did you pose? Was there anyone else there? Come on!" she whines and I feel a brief flash of awe. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Aura," I chide, "and wait for Amy. I don't want to have to repeat myself." I open up the book as she continues to groan.

"Come on, not even a tease?" she tries. I shake my head, smirking slightly.

"Patience is a virtue," I say lightly. "And you can wait until the photographer sorts the wheat from the chaff, just like everyone else." Victoria sighs but gives up, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. I tune it out and focus on the book, luxuriating in the power I have.

The Protectorate are employers. They employ parahumans and have them do what's basically heroing, but they're employers. That means they have rules. Regulations. Codes that must be followed, and ones that override whatever I personally believe. To satisfy John, I took a look at the handbook, all of it, and highlighted the parts I couldn't live with. Not didn't want to. Not didn't enjoy. Couldn't.

In two hundred some pages of small text and legalese, over the course of an entire month, I found maybe five total paragraphs that were so antithetical to my beliefs that I would never be able to enforce them. John took me at my word and hasn't bothered me about it since. They're corner cases, and small ones at that. More than the restrictions though, I _like_ being my own boss. I _like_ having an absurdly radical freedom, even if I've never used it that much, because the alternative is dreading the moment when I'm _not_ free, waiting for the one instance where I can't do what I want, what I feel is reasonable.

I turn another page, slowly sinking back into a doze, letting the story and the TV and Vicky's running commentary wipe me out. I feel bone rise up, slipping around my clothes without tearing them, and fall back into calm, content with myself.


	3. Draft of Valentine's Day Interlude

Fucking _Valentine's Day_.

 _Everyone_ wants a custom bouquet, made today by me personally. _Everyone_ wants a custom vase engraved with their true love's name. And _everyone_ thinks that the very large, very _obvious_ sign that says 'Order Ahead for Holidays' somehow doesn't apply to them.

It's days like these that make me seriously consider murdering every cape that isn't associated with Accord and letting him administrate the city into something reasonable.

At least some of them did their research. An eccentric German couple, a professional-looking Asian man, a boy and girl who are too familiar with parahuman stuff to be anything other than off-duty Wards, and a few more prepared romantics who thanked me quietly before leaving quickly.

The rest, though...

I doubled the prices the first time someone yelled that they needed to jump the line because of true love. Then again when someone offered to buy the spot of the person in front of them. The jury's still out on whether it was worth it.

I decided no new customers at three. Early for a flower shop on Valentine's Day? Yes. But the line already stretched around the block and some rough math told me that if I served _only_ the already waiting patrons I wouldn't be leaving here until six at the earliest. When that little tidbit made its way down the line, about half the customers suddenly decided that something less pricey would be just the thing for their significant other.

I didn't mind. I had too much work already.

At five I'm finally done. Maybe I could've stayed open and picked up a few more people. Maybe the junior employee that suggested that because they wanted to get off shift and buy my flowers could've triggered and grown their own damn art piece. I close up shop and nod politely to Proticao and Maudlin, who're also closing up shop across the street. Proticao waves me over with a steel-clad hand, the orange lights on her armor twinkling merrily. Maudlin straightens his coat, pink fur rippling slightly in the wind and vertical eyelids flickering shut over his blue eyes before giving me a sharp-toothed grin.

"White Rose, come an' talk," the Case 53 says, a growl at the back of his throat. "We'd like ya help with finaglin' out th' plans for th' night."

"I need you to convince him that just because he _can_ step into any bar in the city and get drinks on the house doesn't mean he _should_ visit every bar in the city and get drinks on the house," Proticao says, the orange lights on her helm flickering into a frown. "We don't know how his biology will handle the alcohol and there are _too many bars_ for anyone to survive such a plan anyway."

Maudlin brushes aside the concerns with the back of his hand, claws sheathed, fur flat and relaxed. "Every bar's a bit o' amusin' th' truth. Just wanted to get some drinks with ya. So, watcha say?" he finishes, leaning forward over the table towards me and smiling with his lips closed.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I dig it out. Amy. I shake my head mournfully at the two of them and wave my phone at the pink-furred administrator.

"Afraid I'll have to take a rain check. Amy and I already made plans."

"You an' the fleshripper..." Maudlin says, temporarily taken aback. I feel a now-familiar frustration arise in my chest. I ripple some ribs to calm myself as Proticao shakes her head.

"You are not the first to make that mistake but no, White Rose informed me that she was without a lover and heterosexual when she rejected my own advances some time ago-"

"I really must be going," I interrupt, fighting down a flush behind my mask of petals. The raw number of people who attempt to pair me with women is already too high without adding a meddlesome Thinker to the mix. "Good evening to you both."

"This ain't over," Maudlin calls after me, his voice ringing with a cackle barely restrained. "Gonna get the story 'bout you an' th' flashlight 'ventually!"

I flag down a cab two blocks away from the shop and rattle off an address. He gets me there with a minimum of fanfare so I tip him with an open rose blossom.

"Have a happy Valentine's Day," I say, waving goodbye at him through the passenger side window. He gives me a two-finger salute and a smile before maneuvering back into traffic. I wonder if he has somewhere to be later tonight. I shrug and turn to the house. Three stories, old, and well maintained, with a tiny yard maybe ten minutes from the beach and fifteen from a Walker Brothers. I knew that Carol and Mark had good life insurance policies but the meaning of that is easy to forget until you walk into what's basically a mansion in the middle of a major city.

I try the door and realize it's open. I hear raised voices and approach slowly.

"Vicky, Taylor and I are going out for drinks because spending Valentine's Day alone sucks and you and Sarah have plans, not because we're hopelessly in love with each other and need a quiet moment to confess and bang," Amy says, exasperation seeping into every syllable. "For the last fucking time, she's straight. Hell, she's not even the straight that could be potentially interested in girls. She wants the beef, not the lean."

I bring a hand to my temple and begin massaging it. Oh boy, this ought to be good.

"I don't know why you're so against this," Vicky says. "You have complementary powers, you both fall within the half age plus seven rule, and you're both reasonably attractive." I shake my head. Really Victoria? That's how you pair people? I push open the door quietly. Neither of them notice, still locking eyes across the dining table. I take the moment to settle down on a couch.

"We are good friends. She is also a comfortably _heterosexual_ woman. Please. Stop." I can practically feel the barely-restrained rage in Amy's voice. A thought comes to mind and I start making a bouquet of flowers.

"First, let us remember that you can tsundere with the best of them," Victoria says, pointing at Amy, who tosses her head to the side with a snort. "I'm being serious!" she exclaims, spreading her hands in exasperation. "You're a prickly one, and showing affection might be difficult. Second, most romances start in the workplace."

"Because people spend a lot of time together, not because there is something inherently sexy about working," Amy shoots back. "Do you even _remember_ what has to happen for the two of us to be in the same room these days? 'Hey Isidis, do you wanna go out in date?' 'Sure, just let me finish patching up this guy's large intestine!'" She leans forward, staring at her sister. "That's the organ that's filled with _shit_ by the way!"

"All I'm saying is that I support you and your choices," Victoria says, lifting her hands in a show of surrender before reaching across the table to gently grab one of Amy's hands, a soft smile on her face. "And that you should love who you want to love."

She manages to hold the expression for a whole minute. I'm impressed. Then her smile shifts from warm and welcoming to mirthful and she breaks out into howls of laughter. Amy just stares, frowning. Victoria actually falls out of her chair.

"It wasn't that funny," I hear Amy whisper. Even as part of the butt of the joke, I have to disagree. It _was_ that funny.

I stand up, cracking my joints as I do. Both of their eyes snap towards me, gazes hard enough to break rocks and promptly softening to something more suitable when they know I'm not a threat. I put a smile on my mask, porcelain and sweet.

"Are you about ready to go Amy?" I ask, holding the roses across my chest.

"Yeah," she says, slinging a backpack over her shoulder. Victoria gives me a knowing look that makes me thankful for keeping the full-face mask. Otherwise my grin would be a dead giveaway.

Amy and I walk up to the front door before I call back "Hey Victoria, could I have a word?" I turn to Amy. "Meet me at my apartment," I whisper. She looks at me with confused eyes before realization dawns. The viciousness in her smile is something to behold..

"What's up?" Victoria says, floating over to us, eye level with me. Perfect. I look at my feet, playing the shy paramour.

"Well, I was wondering..." I trail off. Take the bait. Do it. You know you want to.

"Ohmygodisthisactuallyhappening," I hear her mutter before she clears her throat. "You were wondering what?" she asks as a sudden rush of awe flows through me. Good, that will make this next part easier.

"I was just thinking... how do you feel about girls liking girls?" I ask, the bouquet still in my hands, my eyes slowly tracking up to her face.

"Itisactuallyhappening," she murmurs. She shakes her head and looks me in the eye. "I think it's a wonderful thing for people to be in love," she says and another wave adoration flows through me. "Pursue whoever you want."

"In that case could you hold these?" I ask, pushing the dozen roses into her chest. She grabs it shock in her features, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. That means her hands are occupied and when I cup her face and press my lips to hers, she goes for a french kiss immediately.

It doesn't last more than a second, but that's long enough for me to learn that her relationship with Gallant was not _quite_ as chaste as his name implies. I hold the kiss, long enough to get some decent goddamn payback for all the jokes and mortifying-as-hell 'dates' with her sister that she's engineered. It's also long enough for her to snap out of it and drop the flowers.

I push myself out of the house, shredding my suit as I armor up and start gaining altitude. A necessary sacrifice. Victoria is behind me, howling with rage. She wouldn't hurt me too much. Her control's gotten good enough that she doesn't even cause concussions anymore.

Nonetheless, where's the fun in talking things out?

I bounce between high rises, abusing my agility for all it's worth, laughing hard enough that some people look up. What must this look like to them? Two good friends, one laughing and one screaming. Did Vicky finally snap? Is this just some disagreement we decided to settled using a game of tag hundreds of feet off the ground? Or is it something less sensical that only a cape could understand?

I eventually run out of platforms. Victoria flies straight for me, focused and furious. I smirk and fall backwards, spreading out wafer-thin bone. I focus as I fall straight down, gaining speed, lengthening my wings even more. Then, when Victoria is about to catch me and the streets are becoming visible enough to make out the beginnings of faces, I spin and flare the constructs.

This is the part I never get used to. It always feels like a dream, like something that could never happen. I reflexively snap a toe bone and smile at the pain. Real.

The wind catches my wings, straining them and lifting me away. Victoria overshoots, curving around for a second pass. We're in her domain now, and I've lost the advantage. Perfect arial movement will always trumps gliding.

I don't really care. Any reason to fly is a good reason.


End file.
